


Sweet Bread At 2AM

by InterstellarToaster



Series: Second Person: POV [6]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family Bonding, Fluff, Gen, Google Translate Use, Humor, POV Second Person, Parent Reader, Reader Insert, Second POV, Slice of Life, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Vague Mention of Powers, batmom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-06 06:46:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11595117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InterstellarToaster/pseuds/InterstellarToaster
Summary: There's flour on your hands, your four boys are fighting a losing battle against sleep, and your husband keeps sneaking pieces of bread when he thinks you're not looking. You couldn't be happier.





	Sweet Bread At 2AM

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this for myself, but Grandpa's Cheesebarn convinced me to post it. Vague mentions of powers that the reader has, but doesn't really affect anything. Everything is happy and nothing hurts: a novel

You smiled gently, your lips curling upwards like a little plant reaching up towards the sun. There was flour on your hands, and a loaf of bread in the oven. You were contented. Your boys were safe in their beds, for once, and Bruce had come back from patrol early. That just left you, awake in the middle of the night, baking bread. You weren't quite sure why, but it was bread your stomach demanded and so bread you would make.

You began to hum. It made you feel better, as you danced around the kitchen, the strings of your apron bouncing along. "I wish I was Batman!" The apron's bold letters proclaimed. You always laughed when you wore it, today was no exception. However, your humming and your giggling were not enough to mask the gentle pitter-patter of feet that come from the hall. Like your smile, the potted plant on the windowsill reaches upwards, ever so slightly.

"Ummi," Comes a little voice, firm yet distant. It is your son, Damian. He is so small, yet tenacious to a fault. Just like his father, you muse.

"Yes, my little fairh?" You ask, grabbing some oven mitts. They have scribbles drawn on them in marker, with the name Tim in large, childish print. Tim, age five.

"What are you doing?" Damian demands, but he yawns at the end and messes up the whole demanding thing. It is late, and he should be in bed. Instead, he's up in the kitchen, eying the oven with an expression of deep suspicion.

"Well, I was hungry for something sweet, so I decided to do some baking," You explain. Your covered hands open the oven and pull out the bread. It's golden, smelling of sweetness and looking like some kind of godly mistake. Damian's eyes widen.

"Kulich?" He inquires, the word accented perfectly. You smile again, and the plant on the windowsill sways.

"Yes!" You confirm, the Russian sweet bread an enticing sight. It had been your grandmother's favorite recipe, and thus yours. And, it seemed, over the years it became a favorite of the Wayne household as well.

Damian clambers up onto the stool of the island with refinement, despite his obvious eagerness for the sweet bread. While it cools, you tend to the little flower on the ledge.

_Someone is coming _, they tell you.__

__  
_ _

"Maaaaa," Comes a groggy voice from down the hall, gently whining. You remember that tone of voice well, one that would often prelude hot cocoa nights and grumblings about how _Bruce totally did this_ or _Jason was such a chode, Ma, I can't believe it. ___

____

____

"What's the matter, milyy?" You hum, taking your hand away from the little plant and bringing it back to the bread. Still a little too hot.

"I went pee and Jay stole my blankets," Dock whines. He flails his arms a little, hair flopping in his eyes. He looks like an overgrown teddy bear, which is only compounded when he opens his arms up for a sleepy hug. You oblige him, before he meanders over to the island counter and takes a seat next to Damian. Dick then proceeds to wrap Damian up in a hug, before closing his eyes.

"Unhand me, Grayson!" Damian hisses. Dick only hums sleepily. You take pity on your youngest by bringing over a plate of now cooled bread, setting it in front of them and waiting. Slowly, Dick's eyes open, and he lets out a bemused sound.

"Kulich!" Dick releases his hold on Damian in favor of snacking on the warm bread. Damian huffs a little, before grabbing some for himself. You laugh to yourself, reaching a hand back to the windowsill to gently prod the soil dirt.

_Happy?_ The plant inquires, and you hum in response.

There is silence for a little while longer. The little plant dances, repeating the words _happy happy happy_ , like a child that knows nothing more than the love of a parent. The two boys share the bread with various states of sleepy smiles. You put the oven mitts back on as you prepare to take another bread from the oven, just in time for the sound of groggy footsteps down the hall.

"Maaaaaa?" This tone of voice is also incredibly nostalgic. He had picked up the nickname from Dick, though this time with much more of a lazy accent, and this tone often precluded similar events. _Ma, Bruce told me I couldn't drive the Batmobile today_ , or, _Dick called me a chode today, Ma, I can't believe him._

"Jay, are you okay?" You inquire, setting the steaming bread down on the counter. Out of the darkness steps your second-oldest son, Jason. His hair is cropped shorter than Dick's, so only the few unruly strands bob in his face. His socks are mismatched, and you're fairly certain he stole that shirt from Tim- you'd have to sort that out later, again.

"I smelled something," He mumbles, glancing at the bread in front of Dick and Damian. It is nearly gone, and Jason has an expression of distant sadness and longing. You smile as you hand him a bit of the new loaf, and he takes a seat next to Damian. Damian clicks his tongue, shoving the last of the first bread into his mouth. You snort, silently of course, and replace the plate with the new bread. Jason says the name like a holy word.

"Kulich."

And then, blessedly, there is silence. You only say this because there usually isn't. You tack it up to the late night, and the warm bread. You do, however, await the arrival of the forth set of footsteps. You are not disappointed.

"Mom?" This voice is quiet, and the footsteps are soft. His hair is an unruly mop, and he wears a pilfered Superboy shirt that somehow manages to compliment his baggy flannels. In his hands, he grips a coffee mug. You can tell from the bags under his eyes that this is not the first trip to the kitchen tonight, but you will make it the last. He doesn't even struggle as you gently take the cup from him and place it in the sink, replacing it with bread and seating him down at the island, beside Dick.

"Dear heart, I'm cutting off your coffee privileges," You inform Tim. He lets out a little whine that devolves into the surprised sound of 'kulich?', before munching into silence. You turn back and look at the four of them, to really look at them. Dick is almost asleep in his bread, Damian is eyeing the clock with displeasure, Jason is stealing the bread from Damian's plate, and Tim looks even worse off than Dick. Your smile widens, and you couldn't be happier.

"What do we have here?" A deep voice chuckles, walking into the kitchen. You snap out of the memories, and the plant on the windowsill coos.

"Bruce!" You admonish, slapping his hand away from the bread he was stealing. He smiles apologetically.

"What? Hosting a secret party without me?" He inquires, even as you smile and flick a crumb at his forehead.

"If this is a party, then I'm afraid I've bored my guests to sleep," You retort gently, gesturing to the now sleeping forms of all four sons. Bruce gives a tiny smile at this, and you go to gather your sons up, intent on putting them back to bed.

"Can you grab Dick and Tim?" You ask quietly as you gather Damian up and wrap an arm around Jason. Bruce nods, helping his two boys up as you both walk down the winding hallway. One by one, you drop them off, remembering to replace Dick's stolen blankets before you go. Then, you're back in the kitchen again, a small platter of cooling sweet bread left and Bruce at your side.

"You're amazing," He tells you, another small smile on his lips. Like he's trying to figure out the secret behind how lucky he was to get you. You laugh a little, smiling even as sleep pulls at your eyes. You look back to your windowsill plant, and think of all you gave up to be here. What could have been, with the whisper of grass and the rustling trees. And even with those words, you smile. You wouldn't give up your life now for the world.


End file.
